


Dropping Eaves

by Araine



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, F/M, Temporarily Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-27
Updated: 2016-02-27
Packaged: 2018-05-23 10:50:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6114218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Araine/pseuds/Araine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hawke hears something she probably shouldn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dropping Eaves

**Author's Note:**

> Brought over from Tumblr. For the prompt: things you said that i wasn’t meant to hear

Hawke’s only barely Andrastian, so her visit to the Chantry is more social than spiritual, but Varric passed on a few leads about the whereabouts of the scattered remnants of Flint Company, and she wants to know if Sebastian is of a mind to pursue them. She climbs her way up the stairs to the Chantry. This grand hall is always so much more intimidating than the cosy Lothering Chantry, with the great statue of Andraste looming over everything, the light of the candles making her look vaguely disapproving. On quiet days like this, even the quietest voices echo.

“–not sure what to do.”

That’s Fenris’s voice. She can already pick it out from a crowd, that distinct low growl. He’s speaking quietly, in a low rumble that roots her to the spot. The architecture of the Chantry means she can hear every word clearly, even across the building.

“Well it’s certainly not a decision I can make for you.” That’s Sebastian, his lilting brogue unmistakable.

Hawke wonders if she should leave, or maybe announce herself very loudly. She’s still wondering when Fenris speaks again.

“Hadriana was–” he pauses, searching for words. Selfishly, Hawke stays put. It’s not right to listen in on a private conversation, but Fenris so rarely talks about his past or about the day that Hadriana came and the night that followed between them. “She got too close,” Fenris concludes. “I got complacent and she almost–”

He doesn’t finish the thought, but Hawke can complete it amply well herself.

“And so you want to run,” Sebastian concludes. And this must be why Fenris is here– he’s contemplating leaving, going on the run again. It– hurts, a sharp ache in her chest. She has no claim on him, she knows, nothing to stop him with. And she supposes she can’t blame him for leaving.

“Yes,” Fenris says, and then, “No. I’m not sure.”

“Because of Hawke?” Sebastian asks, gently.

“Yes.”

Hawke gasps, aloud, then claps her hands over her mouth and glances around, checking that she hasn’t been heard. It’s the last thing that she expected to hear, that he’s still in Kirkwall because of her. She’s reeling on her feet, unable to breathe.

“I suspected as much,” Sebastian says. That’s a little embarrassing all by itself, because she knows how wretched she’s been over Fenris lately, but she’d held onto hope that maybe the others hadn’t noticed. No such luck. If Sebastian’s figured it out, then keen eyed Isabela and terminally curious Varric definitely have.

“We– well– shared a night together–”

Fenris sounds so very uncomfortable that Hawke almost giggles, and she is very glad for her hand still clasped over her mouth.

“I’m a Chantry brother, not an innocent,” Sebastian says, very droll. “I’m not going to expire right here if you tell me you and Hawke had extramarital sex.”

Fenris clears his throat. “Indeed,” he says, and there is a silence before Sebastian prompts him again.

“So,” the Chantry brother says, “you and Hawke spent the night together. And?”

And again, Hawke can’t even breathe, because these are words she has wanted from him for so long now that even the faintest taste of them has her trembling.

“And I– don’t know,” Fenris says, voice wrenched by some emotion. “It was– everything, too much, all at once.”

“And that scares you,” Sebastian says.

“She is a mage,” Fenris says, as though that answers everything, and maybe it does. The one gulf between them that will never be bridged.

Hawke flees the Chantry, slips as quietly as she can out the door and flies down the steps. She stops at the bottom, leaning against the Chanter’s board, and breathes in great gasping sobs. It’s too much, all too much. She wanted to know how he felt and now she does, and she has no one to blame but herself.

Eventually she gathers up all the hurt inside her, and stumbles off back home where she’s grateful to have a mother who takes one look at her weeping girl and starts baking honey cakes, and Orana who draws her a hot bath.

Three days later and they’re on the Wounded Coast and Hawke pulls him aside. She’s not sure if this is a good idea, or even if it’s a bad one, but her father always said she could never leave well enough alone. Fenris raises one curious eyebrow, and she draws in a deep breath.

“Don’t leave,” Hawke entreats him.

His green eyes go wide, lips parted. He stares at her, struck to the spot. “How–?” he asks.

“I mean,” Hawke amends, “I want you to stay. Would like you to stay.” She’s not sure what her opinion counts for with him, but if it counts for anything she wants to say her piece.

There’s something tentative about the way that Fenris smiles at her, but she can tell– some sort of peace has been brokered between them.

“I will stay,” he says, quiet and low.

Stay he does.


End file.
